“Have it now, or wait till I get it, eh? I’ll have it now. Delicious! I always say that nobody makes tea like you.”
Now boisterous spirits at breakfast were not usual with Major Ames, and, as has been said, his wife easily detected a false air about them. Her vague sense of disappointment and grievance began to take more solid outlines.
“It is delightful to see you in such good spirits, Lyndhurst,” she observed, with a faint undertone of acidity. “Sitting up late does not usually agree with you.”
There was enough here to provoke repartee. Also his superficial boisterousness was rapidly disappearing before his wife’s acidity, like stains at the touch of ammonia.
“It does not, in this instance, seem to have agreed with you, my dear,” he said. “I hope you have not got a headache. It was unwise of you to stop so late. However, no doubt we shall feel better after breakfast. Shall I give you some bacon? Or will you try something that appears to be fish?”
“A little kedjeree, please,” said Mrs. Ames, pointedly ignoring this innuendo on her cook.
“Kedjeree, is it? Well, well, live and learn.”
“If you have any complaint to make about Jephson,” said she, “pray do so.”
“No, not at all. One does not expect a cordon bleu. But I dare say Mrs. Evans pays no more for her cook than we do, and look at the supper last night.”
“I thought the quails were peculiarly tasteless,” said Mrs. Ames; “and if you are to be grand and have pêches à la Melba, I should prefer to offer my guests real peaches and proper ice-cream, instead of tinned peaches and custard. I say nothing about the champagne, because I scarcely tasted it.”